» Hauntings & Healings

For all those boisterous statements, for all those emboldened decrees, her ability to do something was supremely hindered – merely because she was a child, and she had no power to befoul a god – fallen, broken, spectral, or otherwise.

But she’d try, because she was a willing little force of tenacity and audacity, brimming with such a heated, blunt force, sharpened to such an extent, realigned, sculpted and carved over again, turning her head towards the haunting outcries and the bestial commandments; noting the bedlam, the chaos, the unraveling menace. Ghosts were on the horizon, in the shadows, in the mist, in the cloaks and daggers of friends, of allies, of comrades, and it stoked a fire within her soul, so when she turned to Iskra as he asked if she was all right, she locked everything away under smoke, under embers, under a breathtaking, ferocious smile. “I’m okay,” she nodded, struggling not to quiver, not to shake, when the strangest of sensation inched its way into her skin. Her pelt trembled on its own, an innate reaction to touch, to foreign entities crawling along her form – but this was different, like something burrowed its way into her hide and stayed there. It irritated and annoyed her, a strange droning sound captivating her presence the way bees so often did with their peculiar buzzing, drawn to them as a moth to a flame, but this was otherworldly, creepy, and eerie. She couldn’t understand it, couldn’t fathom it, so she attempted to ignore the bizarre perception, stepping forward, into the bounty of malice and menace again, fighting too many things at once.

Melita endeavored to focus on Iskra then, his agreement to her request, then his awe at the scene before them – she had just a few small moments to gaze at the wolf before it disappeared, before he murmured something about another carnivore, and she couldn’t remember, recall, anything about these monsters. Perhaps she’d been too young, too naïve, too spellbound by everything else to have been allured or beguiled by the stories, but she was well and trapped now by its notations. “What tiger?” The little one whispered back, but by the time she’d turned to stare, to gaze upon the boy in blue and gold, he was gone. A sudden panic swelled in her heart, in her chest, in her lungs, a thousand questions launched in her mind (what if he’d suddenly been taken by the monsters, what if he’d been assaulted, what if he’d been hurt?), spinning her in all directions. She spotted him as he became the savior for another (a being falling down, down, down), capable where she was not, and the brief flutter of apprehension cooled into that ferocity all over again.

What could she do to help someone else? How could she combat these malignant forces?

She didn’t even know how to fly yet.

There was a figure on the ground though, nearby, drenched in black – still, too still. The honeybee child inhaled, and tread softly, carefully, towards the felled beast, because he needed protection, because she could at least stand nearby, another body, another wall, another shield for someone in need. The girl unfolded her wings, fluttered them open like a canopy (an umbrella, a ward), to shelter the stranger from the phantoms, from the chaos, from the vast unknown. She thought about lowering her maw to his ears, to ask, to inquire about his wellbeing, but there was naught else she could do but stare out into the abyss, to watch, to guard, eyes darting, heart pounding, anger beginning to claw its way into her throat.

Melita

diamond in the flesh

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@Iskra @Tamlin {trying to stand over him. ;D}